


Her Duty

by bickazer



Series: Magus Verse [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ambition, Character Study, Courtship, Family, Fantasy, Gen, Magic-Users, Nobility, Protective Siblings, Royalty, Sibling Bonding, Worldbuilding, court intrigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bickazer/pseuds/bickazer
Summary: Philomel Pavos had everything a ministra could ask for. She knew she was supposed to be bond with the Crown Prince, the energos to rule all energi, and make her family proud.Never once did she expect she would fail.
Series: Magus Verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/671831
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Her Duty

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago and I've been meaning to post it all along, but never got around to it until now. Yep, it's another installment in my Magus Verse series! This can be read as a direct sequel to Aethereal, focusing on Philomel's reaction to the aftermath.
> 
> I had posted this to my tumblr previously, but this version has been edited a little.

An energos' scent stirred within the Consort's Court. The heavy musk cut through the sweetness that normally suffused the air, sharp as a heated blade, but it didn't bring to life any of Philomel Pavos' instincts. 

Indeed, instead of burning her blood and leaving her weak-kneed, it filled her with calm reassurance. Why shouldn't it? She recognized the sharp piney tinge to the scent instantly. 

It was her brother.

So Philomel remained kneeling before the low table in the private room, her composure perfectly intact. When the door slid open, she sat further upright and put on a calm smile.

A tall man ducked through the door. He moved with the sleek confidence of an energos, a jarring contrast to the elegant ministra stateliness that surrounded Philomel every day. As her brother went to kneel opposite her, the already cozy room seemed to shrink in size, barely able to contain his presence. 

Ever since she was little, this was how Philomel had seen her brother - more a force of nature than a human being, with a natural gift for compelling attention wherever he went. When she was younger, she'd believed he could do anything. Now she knew better, but she still couldn't help relaxing in his presence. 

Her brother was here. He would make everything right.

Alexandir Pavos smiled at her with the forest-green eyes they shared. "It's been a while. Sorry I couldn't come sooner, Mel."

"It's no problem," Philomel said. "I'm glad to see you, big brother."

A Silent Servant served them tea and delicate finger sweets, then left the siblings alone. Through the thin paper and bamboo walls, Philomel could hear the muffled sounds from the rest of the Lotus Mansion - murmuring voices, tinkling string music, the rhythmic tread of servants - but otherwise it was like she and Alexandir were in their own world. These private rooms were the only places where ministra could meet their energos relatives within the coral wall of the Consort's Court. 

Alexandir lived at the royal palace but rarely visited her; he trusted her to take care of herself, and he was quite busy with his work on the Circle of Magi besides. But he had come personally today, because the matter was that serious.

They didn't talk about it at first. Philomel poured cups of the fragrant jasmine tea for her brother and herself, and they nibbled at the rice flour dumplings and rosewater candies and chatted about their family back in the Forestlands, her lessons, court gossip. Philomel almost let herself get drawn into the simple comfort of conversing with her brother, where she didn't have to carefully appraise every word she said and observe for signs of subterfuge and deception.

But that wasn't the way life worked at court. Not even between family members. Eventually, Alexandir set down his cup and looked at her with serious eyes and said, "Mel, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what, big brother?" Philomel kept her voice soft and pleasant, showing the demure submissiveness that had been drilled in her since she had manifested, but her pulse had begun to race. At last, they were cutting to the chase.

"I had no idea...." Sighing, Alexandir raked a hand through his wavy golden hair. "Honestly, that capricious prince. To think he'd reject you like _that_ \- he has no manners."

Yes, indeed. Life at court, unpredictable as it might be, still followed a basic rhythm. All the players were in tacit agreement of the rules. Until the prince had gone and broken them.

The entire court was still reeling from his announcement a week ago. If Philomel thought too hard about it, the shock stabbed her heart anew, sharp as a bolt of lightning - and just as unexpected. Ever since then, she hadn't been able to escape the whispers, the furtive glances, the eyes that looked at her with pity.

Philomel couldn't stand it. She was a Pavos, the most powerful House in Senero. None should pity her. 

She kept her rage to herself, of course. It was unseemly for a ministra to display such forward emotions. She must always be pleasant, gentle, kind. All her teachers had taught her this over the years. Charm was the weapon of a ministra, and she would use it to ensnare the prince's heart and advance the Pavos cause. This was her duty to her family, and Philomel had never resented it. Why should she?

Ever since she had manifested as a ministra, ever since her mama had braided the first Pavos peacock hairpin into her hair and outlined her eyes in shimmering green paint, everyone had told her the same. One day, she would be Royal Consort.

If she was sweet and charming enough. If she practiced her wood magic and became the strongest and most skilled. If she danced with grace and sang with beauty. She would stand above all the ministra and the prince would only have eyes for her.

Often she imagined her bonding ceremony - ministra always did, and many dreamed of bonding with the prince themselves. But while her fellows fantasized, Philomel looked upon them with smug pity because she knew they were just fantasies, while for her it would be reality. It would be _her_ standing beside the prince clad in the peacock robes of Pavos House, the most beautiful ministra in the palace, the most adored, the most fortunate. They would cheer and sing, courtiers, foreigners, and commoners alike, and it would all be because of her. 

Now...now it would never come to pass. And she was angry, yes, even though it was unseemly, but more than angry she was disappointed. In her brother, her parents, her tutors, for their blithe reassurances and unshaking faith in her - but above all in herself.

She had tried her best, but it wasn't good enough.

"Mel." Alexandir's voice snapped her back to reality. He leaned across the table toward her, his eyes shining with concern. "Don't be so depressed now. It's not over. The prince may have made his decision, but he's not the only one who gets to choose. The matter of who he bonds with affects all of Senero. Do you think the rest of his family and courtiers will allow his selfish decision to go forward unchallenged?"

"No, big brother," Philomel said, soft and dutiful.

"That's right." Alexandir spoke with increasing energy. "The royal family has always bonded into the Six High Houses. We are the very foundation of Senero. The Queen and Consort understand this. How could they countenance their heir tying himself to a family of fish merchants? It's absurd. I have already raised my objections with Her Majesty and Lord Hazan, and I plan to speak to His Highness about it as well."

"Even so, the decision is the prince's," Philomel murmured, gazing at her faint reflection in her half-drained teacup.

"He must take his family's input in consideration," Alexandir said. "Mel, have heart. We haven't lost yet. We just need a new avenue of attack."

He was reassuring her, yet to Philomel's dismay it didn't banish the discontent swirling inside her. Alexandir had not brought it up yet - indeed, it seemed he was deliberately avoiding the subject - but they both knew the real reason why the prince had rejected her. In spite of all her hard work, in spite of the path the Pavos family had so carefully prepared for her. 

And it angered Philomel that she'd never once suspected, not until it had been too late. Yes, Aramy Basquiale came from the most insignificant of insignificant houses - but there remained the crucial fact that he was an aether magus. The first to arrive at the palace in generations.

Through her multiple dates and interviews with the prince, Philomel had come to understand one thing about him very well. He was obsessed with strength. Obsessed with it, and insecure over his lack of it, and Pavos had hoped to exploit this to put themselves in an advantageous position once they tied Philomel to him.

They'd been outwitted by Aramy Basquiale's very existence. Pavos was powerful, yes, but not in the way that mattered most to the prince. Money, political power, influence - what did that matter compared to raw magical potential? 

Philomel prided herself for her magical power. How could she be a Pavos otherwise? From the moment she'd manifested her aura, controlling plants had come as easily to her as breathing. Now, even unbound as she was, she had already learned how to grow a living tree from a single seed. It was only right for the one who would someday be the most powerful ministra in Senero. 

When she had still been living in the Pavos estate, her tutors had rhapsodized about the prince's skill with water aura, how it would complement her wood aura perfectly. They would be able to cast the strongest spells together, his water feeding her wood. But when she'd met the prince, she came to understand the truth. The prince could barely summon a single raindrop. His strength would not be able to augment hers in any appreciable matter. She would be the stronger one in the relationship. It might be unnatural, but Philomel had told herself it was all right, because it ensured she would hold the advantage. And through that advantage, she would help Pavos House.

But of _course_ if the prince found a way to give himself the power he so desired, he would seize it in a heartbeat.

"I should have seen it, big brother," she found herself saying. "I knew all along that Lord Basquiale was an aether magus, but I never even suspected - "

"That's right, it all boils down to this Lord Basquiale," Alexandir said, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop. "I should have kept a more careful eye on him...I met him a few times at dances, and he impressed me with his unusal appearance, but he never stood out to me otherwise. He always seemed like the shy, retiring type. But you surely must know him better than me."

The worst thing was Alexandir's voice held no reproach; he wasn't blaming her. It didn't make Philomel feel any better. "I don't, really. He was like that in the Consort's Court, too. He kept to himself. He didn't seem interested in forming alliances with powerful families. I don't think I've ever exchanged more than five words with him."

In retrospect, it was amazing how well Aramy Basquiale had managed to hide himself, slipping away so inconspicuously into the background that sometimes Philomel forgot he existed. Even if he was from a house far beneath her notice, he ought to stand out by virtue of his unusual appearance and even more unusual aura. Instead, Philomel's main impression of the man was that he tended to spend his time in the library and was a decent nature painter. He'd won one or two poetry competitions, once turned down a bonding offer from Saunt House, and that was about the limit of Philomel's knowledge of him. 

Now it was obvious what he'd been doing. Cloaking himself in innocuousness so as to not appear a threat, only to swoop in at the final moment and claim his prize in a way that ensured the prince would never be able to refuse. 

He had outplayed her, he had done it perfectly, and she didn't know if she could ever recover. She was a _Pavos_. Destined for greatness. The perfect ministra.

Silly of her. She'd allowed herself to forget. The perfect ministra wasn't the most beautiful, the most graceful, the most noble, the most skilled. The perfect ministra was the one who supported their energos the best. Philomel could never do it; she would always outshine the weak prince.

But someone whose aura by its very nature augmented others might well make the perfect ministra.

Philomel's hands started to shake. She mentally cursed her lack of composure and folded them in her lap, hidden away beneath the table so Alexandir wouldn't see. Even so, the concern on his face was obvious. 

She didn't want him to look at her like that - him, least of all. She'd always wanted him to think of her as capable, worthy of carrying the future of Pavos House in her hands. 

"You know I'm here for you, Mel," Alexandir said gently. "I will speak to the prince, the Queen, Lord Hazan, the Consort, the vizier - whoever I need to. I'll learn more about Lord Basquiale, I'll find a way to defeat him. As long as we don't give up, the future is bright. I'm your big brother. I promise, I will give you the crown that you deserve."

"Thank you, big brother." Philomel lowered her head in a brief, respectful bow. Funny how his words left her completely cold. If anything, the doubt only gnawed a bigger hole into her heart. 

She already understood that she had lost. Alexandir didn't know the prince like she did - he didn't see the gaping patheticness inside him, that desperate, floundering desire to prove himself. It had always disgusted Philomel, in a faint way, listening to him ramble about his prowess with swords or how he was practicing his rain-summoning spells. _The prince should not be like this,_ she always thought even as she nodded and smiled and flattered him. _He should be so assured of his skill that he has no need to speak of it._

Carnelio Azed was nothing like the fairytale prince she had imagined back in her innocent days at the Pavos estate. Maybe he looked the part. Tall, handsome, with intense dark blue eyes that made Philomel feel as though she were falling into the ocean - but when he spoke it was only weak and pathetic words that oozed out. When he smiled it was odious and false. When he kissed her hand it was clumsy, devoid of passion.

When he talked it was only about himself. When he gave gifts he was blustering, overly proud of his magnaminity. The prince of Philomel's imagination was calm, brave, dashing, gracious. He made her feel safe and protected, loved and cherished, the perfect epitome of energos dominance. 

Philomel knew such a prince had probably never existed in real life, but Carnelio Azed was perhaps as far from it as a person could get. She told herself she was fine with it. This was not for her, it was for Pavos House. Even if she loathed him, she would still become Royal Consort. This thought got her through countless awkward interviews.

Yet even as she dreamed of her bonding day, she never let herself imagine what would come after. Their bonded life. It was too sickening a prospect to face. Most likely it would be just like their courtship, as empty and insincere. She would have to watch every word, take care not to tread upon his fragile ego, while he gave absolutely nothing to her. And she was fine with that, really, except in her heart, she...foolish. Childish. Alexandir would make fun of her for it. 

But she didn't _want_ to spend the rest of her life manipulating her energos. She wanted what her more romantic fellows sighed and pined for. To let herself follow the energos' lead, to give in to his command, to fall into his arms and never have to think about anything except being by his side. To experience _true_ submission. How wonderful it would feel. How freeing. 

And now her life with the prince might never come to be, and...Philomel did not want to admit it. Especially not with her brother in the room, so determined to continue fighting for her. But a shameful selfish part of her, buried deep inside, was glad that she would not have to bond with the Crown Prince.

Weak. Wrong. She was a proud Pavos and a Pavos could not simply concede like that. 

Alexandir reached across the table, and Philomel reached for his hand, and when his warm strong fingers squeezed hers, she squeezed back just as hard. "I promise," he whispered. "Mel, I won't stop fighting for you."

"I know you won't, big brother," Philomel said, and she knew he meant it, and she was grateful, but it didn't stop the faint pulse of sadness somewhere deep in her heart. 

Was Alexandir fighting for her, or for Pavos House? They were one and the same, she reminded herself. And it wasn't like he really knew what she thought of the prince. She had never revealed it - it would be ungrateful. Undutiful. Not after everything her family had done to get her into this position, and not after everything she had done for their sake. 

She'd never be free from this, not as long as she was a Pavos. Perhaps for a Pavos ministra, there could never be true submission.

It didn't matter. She didn't need an energos to submit to. Not as long as she had a brother who would protect her and care for her. The bonds of blood ran thicker than anything else, even the bond of magic.

"For Pavos House," she said, "we won't ever give up."

"Of course not." Alexandir winked. "That's what Pavoses do. No little _Basquiale_ will stand in our way."

They smiled at each other above their clasped hands, and though Philomel's doubts and fears didn't disappear, they felt further away than ever. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think.
> 
> I've gotten back into the Magus Verse in a big way lately. It's taken me what, more than four years? But I'm finally almost done with my major edits to the main story Alone, Together. There's a very good chance the published version will finally come out next year, so here's hoping! See you in 2020.


End file.
